


Some kind of Remedy

by DuskAndDawn1234



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Grief, Heavy Angst, Inspired by Red Dead Redemption, M/M, Mourning, RDR2, Red Dead Redemption 2 Spoilers, Redemption, Sorrow, Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), faith - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:15:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22352452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DuskAndDawn1234/pseuds/DuskAndDawn1234
Summary: so i just finished red dead redemption 2 for the first time and i spent a good 30 minutes sobbing. it broke my heart. the game was amazing but i fell for the sweet arthur we all came to love and adore. his death really shook me.i'm vandermorgan trash, i know i know, ya'll can think what you want but i had to write something to cheer myself up a little. or atleast make it more bearable.i love mah boahs okay <3
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Dutch van der Linde, Arthur Morgan/Dutch van der Linde, Dutch van der Linde/Arthur Morgan, darthur, vandermorgan
Comments: 11
Kudos: 48





	Some kind of Remedy

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers, duh.  
> vandermorgan angst.

Winter comes and goes. Leaving the snowed in landscape under a cold blanket of freshly crisp white. Glittering in the sunlight as the sun rises in the east, and sets in the west.    
The land is wild still. Untamed. Unbroken. Wildlife flourishes, and soon spring follows after. Rabbits hopping in the tall grass. Deer drinking from the river below. Eagles circling and nesting nearby.    
  
There´s life here. Blooming. Bustling. Bursting at the seams. The world moves on. As it always does. As life has to. It cannot wait for mourning. It cannot stop spinning. Like the wheels of the trains cutting through the west. They never stop rolling. Never stop coming. Beating the very ground into submission with their force.    
  
It has been ages now. Since he was here last. The memories still vivid in his mind, clawing at his conscience with all their might. Their actions. _His_ actions. And the consequences thereof.    
No peace. He thought he could run from it, fight it. Like he did with everything else. Fight until his dying breath. Yet still now he found his boots dragging him up the mountain, his heart thudding steadily in his chest, though it died many winters ago.    
  
There he stands. A setting sun in the west lighting the overlook. The flowers in his hands cut at his skin, the thorns drawing blood as he lays them to rest on the grave. He kneels there, head bowed in shame.. The pain is still too real. Too thick, like a fog that burns his throat with every breath he takes.    
  
“ hey there.. _Son_.. “    
  
A bitter taste fills his mouth. Does he even have the right to speak? To be here.. He doesn’t know. And truth is, he doesn’t want to know it. Perhaps it is better left unsaid, even if in his heart he knows that this is futile. He will not save himself from the torture, so he must endure.    
  
It is how he will pay for his actions.. By living with them. By remembering. Even if it changes nothing of the past, perhaps, in some way. He can find redemption in these simple acts.    
  
“ i’m sorry arthur.. For everything.. “    
  
There’s tears. There’s always tears. He wipes at them with his scratched hand, the salt stings in the small wounds. But he pays them no mind.    
The roses are a fine addition to the grave, he notes. There’s more flowers, some new, some old. They aren’t his. But it doesn’t matter.    
Nothing matters anymore.. In the end of all this..  
he is haunted by the things that were, things that could have been. stolen nights out on the prairie.. whispers.. touches.. all so light, so warm, they pale in comparison to the time they spent together. it never quite goes away, that feeling. he never quite stops hearing arthur's voice, his laughter. like a ghost bringing comfort he doesn't deserve. he knows he doesn't. but going mad while grieving is better than reality. so he lets himself believe. let's himself have faith that the man he once loved is still out there.. watching over him. guiding him. comforting him.   
  
The light fades, and Dutch stands. Watching the clouds change from shades of yellow and orange to a deep red. Until there’s nothing more than blackness. And the soft glimmer of stars.    
  


There are always flowers on his grave.    
No one knows who brings them, no one cares to find out.    
But every year, in the flourish of spring, there’s red roses to be found.    
  
It’s what he deserved. 


End file.
